


Blame the Tequila: Chapter Eight

by gemini_cole



Series: Blame the Tequila [8]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_cole/pseuds/gemini_cole





	Blame the Tequila: Chapter Eight

Blame the Tequila

Chapter Eight

 

 

            Tom sighed and shifted in his seat. Raking a hand through his hair, he stared out the car window at the house in front of him. Quintessentially southern, there was even a covered porch with a swing swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. He looked at his watch as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Luke had been able to get him on a flight relatively quickly, and Tom had spent the rest of yesterday packing and getting his affairs in order. He hadn’t slept in at least a day; maybe he should go check into the hotel first? Shower, nap, and get something to eat, maybe. Before he could decide, the front door to the house swung open and a dark-haired woman with snapping blue eyes sauntered out, a floral apron wrapped around her waist, and a large mixing bowl cradled on her hip.

            “Hey! You over there! Yes, you in the car. You know you aren’t exactly being subtle, right? Are you planning to come knock on the door? Or do you expect me to come over there and drag you out?”

            Tom opened the door, and stood, smiling sheepishly. As he walked up the driveway, he did his best to brush out the wrinkles in his pants and straighten his shirt cuffs. _Definitely should have gone to the hotel first_ , he thought to himself. Approaching her, he stuck his hand out, smiling winningly at her.

            “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Vanderveer. Frankie never told me she had such a beautiful sister!”

            “Waste your charm on someone else, Limey.” She glared at him, disregarding his hand completely, before opening the door and walking back inside.

            Tom caught the door before it slammed in his face. “Am I meant to follow?”

            “I thought you Brits were supposed to be smart?” came the shouted reply from the recesses of the house.

            Tom sighed inwardly as he stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. The house was cozy, painted with butter yellow walls and white trim. Floral furniture in the living room to his left gave the house a decidedly feminine feel. Following the sound of pots and pans coming from his right, Tom found himself standing awkwardly in the open entryway between the dining room and kitchen, watching as Viola Mae Vanderveer ruled her dominion with an iron hand. While she stirred something on the stove, she regarded a cookbook that looked older than the Ancient Scrolls of Egypt. Just as he was about to ask to see Frankie, Viola turned back to face him, clearly giving him the once over as she stirred the pot idly.

            “Do you know how I found out my daughter was pregnant?”

            Tom opened and shut his mouth several times before replying, “I think I’m about to find out.”

            Viola brandished her spoon at him. “I’ll have none of your cheek in my house. You will address me as Miss Vanderveer or ma’am. Is that understood?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Good. Now how do you suppose I found out?”

            ‘Not from Frankie, ma’am?”

            “I found out from People magazine. And not the actual magazine, the online website. Worse than that, I didn’t even see it for myself first! I got an email with a link from one of the girls I play bridge with, wanting to know if it was true!”

            “Miss Vanderveer-“

            “Don’t interrupt me! I wasn’t finished! By suppertime that same day, I was getting emails from cretins like TMZ, and phone calls from every damn nosey neighbor in three damn counties! And I can’t even yell at my wayward daughter for it, because, low and behold, it was YOU who did it!”

            “Miss Vanderveer, I-“

            “I’m _still_ not finished! Now, not only have you knocked up my daughter, but you clearly have done _something_ to hurt her deeply. She hasn’t been home for anything other than holidays in two years, and now I can’t get rid of her. She’s talking about looking for a place here. Used to be she’d say she needed bigger, better, just _more_ than a sleepy little town like Peachtree City. So what do you have to say for yourself?”

            “Ma’am, that’s why I’m here, Frankie, and I, we had a misunderstanding. I’m hoping to clear the air with her, talk her into coming home-“

            “She is home.”

            Tom gritted his teeth and tried again. “Bring her back to London, and-“

            “Bring her back to London? Listen to you. My daughter is not a piece of property that you can just fuck up her entire life and-“

            “Language! Viola Mae!”

            Tom and Viola both started and turned. There in the back doorway stood Frankie, wearing a tank top and an old pair of denim overalls, cuffed almost to her knees. She looked adorably like a seven year old out playing in the mud, right down to the streak of dirt on her cheek.  They watched as she carefully set a basket on a bench, then kicked off a pair of beat up chucks. She removed a pair of gardening gloves and tossed them into the basket before facing them.

            “This is not how you taught me to treat a guest, Mama.”

            “Who said he was a guest? And isn’t it my house?” Viola shot back.

“Behave, Mama. Now, I pruned the hydrangea and rose bushes back like you wanted, and re-organized all the lilies. That should be about it for the gardening, shouldn’t it?” As she spoke, Frankie crossed the kitchen, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Reaching into the refrigerator she poured herself a tall glass of sweet tea. Grabbing a bottle of water, she tossed it to Tom, who caught it easily.

“I can do the rest of it myself, sugar. Thank you.”

“I’m gonna take Mr. Hiddleston out and talk to him on the front porch, alright?”

“Give ‘em hell, sugar.”

Frankie motioned to Tom, who followed her out the front door. Settling herself on the porch swing, she tucked one leg under her, as she took another sip of her sweet tea. After a moment’s hesitation, Tom followed, sitting next to her on the swing.

Frankie was the first to speak. “So, either you have a top-notch investigator, or Tandy squealed. Which was it?”

“Tandy. But to be fair, I hounded her. She said it was against her better judgment. She also said something about ‘girl code.’ I don’t know what that is, but it sounds serious.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Frankie’s face. “Same thing as when girls go to the ladies room together and whatnot. You have sisters. How do you not know these things?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “I think I missed it while I was away at school.”

“So what are you doing here, Tom?”

He took a deep breath and decided to just jump right into it. “I got the test results back.”

“And?”

“And I need to apologize, profusely. I just-I guess seeing what’s-his-name there-“

“Cal. And if you had just asked, I would have told you.”

“Right. I just assumed, and-“

“You know what they say about assuming, right?”

“Now I see where you get it-this interrupting thing.”

Frankie glared at him. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, Hiddleston. You were an asshole.”

“YOU TELL ‘EM BABY!” came from the general direction of the kitchen. Frankie rolled her eyes before yelling back, “Stop draggin’ an ear, Viola Mae!”

“It’s my house, I’ll drag an ear if I want to!”

Frankie sighed and shook her head.

“You really want to move back to this?” Tom queried.

“Watch it. She may be an annoying mama, but she’s _my_ annoying mama.”

“Right, sorry. Anyway. That’s why I’m here. I want to apologize, and to hopefully work things out between us. Can you forgive me?”

“No.”

“No?”

“You accused me of being a whore, Tom. That’s not something I can just get over. Even if you are sorry, I can’t just act like it never happened.”

Tom leaned back, considering. “Is there anything I can do? Please, Frankie. We need to make this work.”

“Why?”

Tom stared at her incredulously. “Why? Because we’re having a baby, and-“

“No, _I’m_ having a baby. There’s a big difference. Your part of the transaction is over.”

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

She shrugged. “Sure I can. Mama raised me by herself, and did an okay job. And if I do move back to Peachtree City, I won’t have to worry about the astronomical cost of living, and raising a baby in a big city. And I wouldn’t be on my own, Mama will help me with the baby, until I’m on my feet and have a job and whatnot.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“When will I get to see the baby? I know I doubted you, but Frankie, I’ve always wanted to be a father and-“

            “That’s what all men say. Then they face the reality of diapers and midnight feedings and freak out. And it would be even more awkward with us. How do you propose to handle a baby, if we work this out? Leave it with a nanny while you go off to god-knows-where for a movie? I’m not letting my child be raised like that!”

Before he could respond, they were interrupted when an antique green truck pulled into the driveway. As they watched, a man with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, wearing jeans and a button down shirt jumped out. Pulling a bag of groceries out of the backseat, he strode jauntily up the sidewalk, calling out, “Hey there, Miss Frankie!”

Frankie smiled. “Hey, Charlie. Nice day, isn’t it?”

He smiled at the couple. “Indeed it is! Perfect day for a barbeque, wouldn’t you think? Who’s your gentleman, Miss Frankie?”

Frankie stood up, motioning to Tom. “This is Mr. Hiddleston, from London. Tom, this is Mr. Charlie Franklin, my mother’s fiancé.”

“Almost fiancé. She’ll say yes someday. I’m nothing if not persistent, Miss Frankie.” Winking at Frankie, he turned to Tom, shaking his hand firmly as he asked, “Will you be joining us for dinner, Mr. Hiddleston? I make barbeque ribs that’ll have you writin’ to your mama, they’re so good!”

Tom shook his head. “No really, I couldn’t impose-“

“Nonsense. We eat at seven. I’m sure you and Miss Frankie have a lot of catchin’ up to do, and what better way to do it than over a good meal? It’ll give me and Miss Viola a chance to give you the once over, kick your tires!”

Frankie interjected. “I’m sure Tom has things to do, Charlie.”

Tom, sensing a possible ally, held up a hand grinning. “Not at all. I’d be delighted, Mr. Franklin. Thank you for the invitation.”

Frankie sighed. She knew when she was beaten, even if it was temporarily. “I’m going to go shower, then. See you at dinner.” With that, she went inside, the door slamming smartly behind her as Tom and Charlie watched.

Charlie grinned as Tom shook his head ruefully. “Don’t you worry, my boy. These Vanderveer women are a hardheaded bunch. But if you can crack through their tough exteriors, they’re like marshmallow candy inside. A little persistence is all you need.”

Tom looked at Charlie curiously. “And how long have you had to be ‘persistent’?”

Charlie chuckled. “Twenty years, next month. But you’re better looking than me, I’ll wager you beat me!” He winked at Tom as he went to open the door.  “She likes flowers. Pink ones. There’s a florist down the street from your hotel that’s open until five.”

Tom was half way down the front steps before it sunk in. “Wait. How do you know where I’m staying?”

Charlie grinned back. “It’s a small town, my boy. People talk. And Tom? I like you. I’ve seen some of your stuff. I think I’m on your side. But I also know that while I may look and sound like a nice guy, if you hurt my girls, I’ll run you outta town so fast, you’ll be back in London before you know what hit you. Is that understood?”

Tom nodded his agreement, his throat suddenly gone dry. As he walked to his car, he had to stop and marvel at the grand mess his life had become of late. As he turned the key in the ignition he muttered ruefully to himself, “This is what you get for not keeping it in your pants, Hiddleston.”


End file.
